


Feathers

by McVetty



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: A little blurb, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:12:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McVetty/pseuds/McVetty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn't ask how it started. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.</p><p>"In his feathers he shall deliver you and under his wings you shall have refuge; his truth shall surround you as a supply of armor."<br/>               -Psalm 91:4</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> As with everything I've written lately, I am using my iPod. Please forgive mistakes (and by all means point them out). Please enjoy. I had fun writing this.

 

 

 

His breath hitches somewhere in his chest and for a moment he feels completely weightless with someone else's hands wrapped tightly around his wrists, pinning him securely to the wall of a dusty bookshop in Soho. He squirms beneath the featherlight lips on his earlobe, choking out a barely-human noise of bliss, which is all good and well, because Crowley is anything but a human, and if one were to get entirely technical about it, he shouldn't be able to feel bliss, either. Aziraphale presses against him, tightly, intimately, sending millions of signals to Crowley's brain that really ought to not be there. 

 

Aziraphale releases Crowley's left wrist, letting his free hand trail down the demon's side, reaching under the button down shirt, pushing it up, fingers teasing lightly. The ruffle of feathers precedes downy softness rushing over Crowley's exposed chest, Aziraphale's wings stretching out to settle almost lazily against him. Crowley knows better, and as Aziraphale's teeth close around the sensitive skin of his neck, and the angel's pinion feathers tickle across his chest, Crowley moans, hand reaching to tangle in Aziraphale's blonde hair, pulling as he hisses between his teeth. 

 

His eyes flutter closed, long ago losing the sunglasses to a scuffle before the wall-fiasco. Aziraphale uses his free hand deftly, as accurately as any well versed lover, teasing nipples and trailing maddeningly pleasurable fingertips over sensitive hips. Crowley shifts into the touches, greedily demanding more while not bothering to question where the start came from in the first place.

 

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that.

 

A shiver runs through his body, shaking him from head to toe straight to his core. Aziraphale hesitates, lips still touching Crowley's neck, fingers half-slid under the waist of the demon's pants, feathers trembling along exposed skin. 

 

Crowley's perfectly-preened wings beat against the wall twice, and his eyes open. "Why'd y' stop?" he asks, trying to sound nonchalant as his breath slips out in short bursts.

 

"I, er," Aziraphale mumbles into Crowley's neck.

 

The demon squirms, another shiver sliding down his spine. "If you don't mind my asking," he says, in a tone that suggests he wouldn't care one way or the other, "where did y' learn that?"

 

Aziraphale's feathers ruffle, and he straightens up out of his slouch to look Crowley in the eye. "I do own every first edition of the Kama Sutra, dear boy," he replies briskly.

 

"Oh. Right. Have a section about wings in there, do they?" Crowley asks with a devilish (do pardon the pun) grin.

 

"I improvised some. You would be quite surprised, the things written in those books," Aziraphale says.

 

Crowley shifts beneath Aziraphale's wings, letting his own brush up against them. "Maybe you could, uh, take some time to show me? Y'know, in a hands on sort of way."

 

 


End file.
